


Crystal Blue Persuasion

by Wrenlet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crack, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-14
Updated: 2006-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenlet/pseuds/Wrenlet
Summary: Fuckingwings. And a voice that was, in Dean's opinion, marginally more persuasive than normal but really, it was the wings that irritated him most.





	Crystal Blue Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> You know how people are always blaming me for their crack and I'm all down with that? Yeah, well. THIS is [](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/profile)[svmadelyn](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/)'s fault. [Witness the crack of her Thirteen Challenge](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/353004.html) and blame her. Blame her lots.

Sam set some ground rules right off the bat. Rule number one was "No leaving the motel room." Rule two? Talk as little as possible. Rule three -- and this, believe it or not, was the hardest -- for fuck's sake _don't sing_. No whistling, no humming, even tapping fingers got him Sam's Special Death Glare, just on principle.

Dean was about to lose his ever-lovin' mind. Beyond staring at the same damn scenery for three days, his wings itched like hell. "Do wings get dandruff?"

Sam shot him an incredulous look and okay yes, talking, but _dammit_. "You're lucky they're the only part with feathers."

Dean felt his face twist, and actually considered sticking his tongue out at his brother. Sam had taken a certain glee in Googling pictures of classic Greek sirens and listing all the points of difference. Dean had let him get away with it right up to, 'You could have had breasts' before smacking Sam in the back of the head with his left wing.

Fucking _wings_. And a voice that was, in Dean's opinion, marginally more persuasive than normal but really, it was the wings that irritated him most. The bedside lamp had been the first casualty. Rolling over in his sleep the second night had provoked a string of cussing that had Sam slapping his hands over his ears and running for the bathroom. Dean was currently sitting in the only chair with a low enough back that his wings weren't _in the way_ , and oh yeah, he didn't fit in the shower stall unless he folded the things tight up against his shoulders and now they itched.

"There's gotta be someth-"

"Dean!"

Fiftieth verse, same as the first. If Sam didn't hit on an answer soon, something was going to snap and it would probably be Dean's sanity. He tried pantomiming FIND CURE. Then FIX ME. Sam ignored him in favor of, well, researching a way to fix this crap, so Dean knew should probably lay off distracting him, only he was fucking bored.

'They sing sailors to their doom, Dean, knock it off.' The classic defense being earplugs, but they could hardly afford to have the one of them currently in proper fighting shape unable to hear the shit go down, right?

And how was Dean supposed to know he hummed along to commercial jingles? No one had ever mentioned it, so it's not like he'd done it on purpose. Come to find out -- and there'd been plenty of this the first day -- Dean also hummed while he cleaned the guns. And sharpened his knives. Add in his _highly_ dangerous pencil tapping while trying to hold up his end of the research load, and the list of Approved Dean Activities had shrunk to sitting, watching, and sleeping. The size of the shitfit Sam pitched when Dean tried to jerk off in the tiny bathroom was dwarfed only by the amount of wing-induced damage done to the room's tasteful "decor."

Out. Of. His. Mind.

Pathetic really, reduced to wadding up blank sheets of notebook paper for a rousing game of trash can basketball. Dean was ten points up in his head when Sam shot him another of his Looks, and _Christ_ this sucked more than anything else, ever. Dean slumped as low in the chair as he physically could and muttered, "Blow me."

Sam dropped his pencil, the rest of his body unnaturally still as he swiveled his head to look at Dean. "What did you just...."

Oh. Oh shit, he hadn't even been _thinking_ and by the hazed sheen of Sam's eyes, Dean needed to get out of range right fucking now. He pushed up off the arms of the chair and his wings _spasmed_ , tilting out behind him and landing him right back down on his ass. Sam-the-Wingless had no such trouble, out of his seat and on his knees in the floor in front of Dean in the time it took him to think, "OhGodohGodohfuck."

He couldn't even take it _back_ , because they'd tried that on day one and this wasn't a game of Red Light, Green Light, one thing Dean said didn't cancel out another, but _fuck_.

"Dammit, you weren't even thinking, were you." Sam's voice was low and rough, he'd fit himself between Dean's knees and was just leaning into him, hands clutching the arms of the chair.

Dean swallowed hard, and told himself he was whispering because it might help _this_ time where it hadn't ever before. "I didn't... I wasn't singing, Sammy, you don't-"

Sam shifted closer, pressed him back into the chair and moaned against his neck. "This is my _doom_ , Dean, you didn't have to fucking sing it."

One hand let go of the chair to tug at Dean's belt but Sam was, Dean couldn't _make_ him move, not with Sam's mouth tracing slick patterns across his skin and Dean's cursed fucking voice buzzing in Sam's ear. He should be shocked, and maybe he would be later when he realized that 'hand me a napkin' got him glares and grudging, tiny movements but 'suck my dick' made Sam lap and suckle at his cock like... like....

This was Sam's doom, and it was Dean's, too.

Dean wound his fingers into Sam's hair, let his head fall back and felt his wings stretch out and out until they brushed the walls, then he pulled them back in and folded them around his brother.


End file.
